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Hugo’s pets

Fantasy, castration, kidnapping, rape

Timur ponders the day he became one of Hugo’s pets.

Hugo’s pets

Timur knelt on the cold stone floor looking at the back of an ornate wooden chair. It was more of a throne than a chair; grandiose, ancient, made of dark wood. Timur hated this view. It meant that the master was fucking him. Sometimes, rarely, the master would show him some consideration; even tenderness, but tonight was not one of those occasions. Even though Timur had sucked the master’s rod to the best of his considerable abilities, the man now fucked him savagely, yanking his head back by the curly hair, and slamming his enormous rod into him as though he was driving a fence pole into hard earth.

Timur took no pleasure from the experience. He never did. He was incapable of doing so. Even if his brutalised eggs were not a constant source of pain, his own shrunken rod never stood up. Even after so long, his body had not adapted, or learned to enjoy the feel of a rod in his asshole. He was fiercely heterosexual, and though it had been the longest time since he had enjoyed the feel of a girl riding his rod; indeed, his girl was doubtless long since dead; his rod never forgot the sensation and his body and soul never lost the preference.

Around them three more young men sat watching, hiding their compassion behind forced expressions of impassivity, and knowing only too well that the master might decide to use any of them instead if they attracted his interest.

 

Timur still remembered the night he became one of Hugo’s pets. It was over 300 years ago but the pain still remained; a never-ending reminder of that night.

In one way he supposed, he had been more fortunate than the rest of his family, but as harsh as their fate had been, he envied them. At least they were dead, and their suffering was relatively brief.

 

He thought back to the knock on the door of their humble cottage. It was dark out, but not so late that a knock was beyond all reasonability. His father went to the door as Timur and his older brother put away the wooden plates from evening meal.

Suddenly there was a commotion; a scream, followed by a fearsome thud. His father came flying back into the room, followed by splintered beams from the heavy oak door. Timur glanced at his father. His face was missing; smashed to a pulp with a single blow. Timur looked to the open hallway and a tall, dark-haired man with glowing red eyes entered.

Timur’s older brother Dominik grabbed a hefty carving knife from the shelf and charged at the man. The man intercepted his swinging arm easily, and with his other arm, jammed a long-clawed hand right through Dominik’s chest. Dominik’s eyes opened wide in shock, and his body went instantly limp. He was dead before his discarded corpse hit the floor.

 

Seeing the two strongest males in the house despatched as though they were nothing, his mother grabbed the two younger children aged 7 and 4 and retreated towards the corner of the room in terror. She made the sign of the cross in the air in front of her. Dominik stood by the plate cupboard, paralysed with fear.

The male turned his attention to the trio, walking casually, almost playfully towards them. His mother begged for mercy, invoking the name of God and several catholic saints.

The man snarled. The words made him angry.

“God? There is no God. Just me!” he snarled.

He grabbed her by the face, his hand wrapping around her head, and with his other hand, he tore her throat out in one movement, allowing her choking form to stagger backwards, before collapsing from blood loss.

Timur’s siblings were both crying, terrified and as unable as he was to comprehend what they were seeing.

The man picked up the youngest child and sank his teeth into the little girl’s throat, drinking deeply. She struggled, but her efforts were nothing to him, and he continued to drink until her head drooped and she passed away.

Far from sated, the man lifted the boy, Taavi to his face and started to drink, and Timur saw his brother’s face slowly turn grey as the blood was drained from his body. Finally, as the last remaining member of his family struggled for life, Timur was galvanised to action. He picked up two more knives, but remembering Dominik’s fate, he threw the largest at the man.

“Noooo!” he screamed. “Leave him alone!”

The knife bounced handle-first, off the man, and Timur threw the second. By sheer luck, it hit the side of the man’s neck blade first. The man turned slowly to Timur, and gave him an even slower grin. Timur saw that the man had fangs. A vampire! The man pulled the blade from his neck and discarded it as though it was not even an annoyance.

“That will cost you,” he said in a deep, heavily accented voice.

Taavi was already close to death, but the man returned his attention to the boy, wrapping his hand around the boy’s head. He turned back to Timur, and then slowly, as though doing it to show off to the teenager, his slowly closed his hand. Taavi screamed, then there was pistol-crack of bone, then grey and red matter squirted between the man’s fingers as he squeezed his hand into a tight fist. What was left of Timur’s brother fell to the floor.

“That was your fault,” the man said sadistically. “But YOU are the real reason I am here. I’ve seen you by the roadside, selling vegetables. You’re a handsome boy. You’re going to be one of my pets.”

Timur was bewildered. He was just a simple farm boy. It was true that he sold the vegetables his family sold on their small plot of land to bring in a few roubles, but he was nothing special.

“Why?” he asked, looking at the remains of his family with tears streaming down his cheeks.

The man shrugged indifferently.

“It’s tidier like this. No angry mobs searching for you. I could kill a thousand without raising a sweat, but it does get messy.”

 

The man’s casual statement of power terrified Timur even more than the demonstration he had just witnessed. His father was a powerful man; his 23-year-old brother was almost as strong, yet they had been despatched with no effort at all.

Without warning, Timur bolted for the hallway. He reached it ahead of the man, and in three bounds he was at the door. Then there was a wisp of smoke and the man materialised in front of him. Timur tumbled over himself in his effort to avoid bumping into the supernatural being, then the vampire grabbed him by the collar of his rustic work shirt and lifted him a foot off the ground. Timur’s legs scrabbled comically as the man walked back into the house.

“Please, please, have mercy, what have I done to you?” Timur babbled.

“Done? You’ve done nothing. But you are FAR too pretty to be selling vegetables and digging in the dirt for a living alongside these peasants.”

Timur remembered his mother once looking into his dark eyes, and brushing a curl of dark hair to the side.

“The girls will all be fighting to be your wife one day.”

At the time, he laughed bashfully, unaware of just how beautiful he was. Perhaps she would have minded her words if she had known that it was a man who fight for him. A vampire at that!

“You’re going to live with me in luxury, where I can enjoy you for a looong time,” Hugo said to Timur.

Timur frowned, confused.

“I don’t understand.”

The man smiled.

“You will. I’m going to give you a gift, but first…”

He gripped the waistband of Timur’s heavy linen breeches and yanked them down in one movement, snapping the rope tie. They fell past his side-laced leather shoes to the floor.

“What are you doing?!” Timur protested.

Hugo looked between the teenager’s legs, instantly taking in the sight. The boy’s uncircumcised penis was shrivelled with fear, its foreskin forming a tight snout on the end. Beneath, his testicles were not so tight; clearly visible and hanging loose in their scrawny scrotum.

Before Timur could react, Hugo reached out and gripped the young man’s testicles. He could feel each of them between his fingers, like two small balls of warm dough.

Timur reached down to protect himself, but even though the man’s grip was gentle, his hand was as immovable as stone.

“I told you that you would pay. All of my pets lose their eggs, but you…”

He left the sentence hanging, and instead started to roll Timur’s left testicle between his thumb and first two fingers, sensually caressing the soft orb.

Timur knew only well how vulnerable his testicles were to the man’s sadistic whims, but now that the vampire had confirmed that Timur was going to lose his eggs, the young man was half-crazed with fear.

“No, no! Not my balls, please not that!”

Hugo grinned slowly at him. He had the testicle between his fingers as he wanted it now, with his thumb on one end, and the pad of his index finger on the other. He knew from the experience of many hundreds of crushed testicles, that this produced the strongest reaction, and was thus almost certainly the most painful. He started to squeeze slowly, crushing the testicle from the ends.

Timur’s eyes widened slightly in fear, then all at once, the sensation transitioned from discomfort to a shooting bolt of white-hot agony. His eyes shot open, as wide as they could go. Hugo grinned at the boy’s owlish expression; amused by the fact that the level of pain managed to surprise him. His testicle was being crushed; how did he expect it to feel?

Hanging by the scruff of his shirt, Timur ran and kicked in mid-air, like a crazed swimmer desperately trying to exit a lake ahead of a voracious crocodile. His arms at first futilely tugged at the man’s hand, then, when he discovered that that did not diminish the pressure, he pinwheeled them, trying with equal futility, to knock aside, the arm that held him aloft. Timur screamed and gurgled, frantically trying to alleviate the pain.

 

It would have been an inconsequential effort for Hugo to have simply brought his fingers together, bursting the soft orb like a grape, but instead he took his time, looking the helpless teenager in the face with a half-smile as he destroyed his manhood.

He wondered if the boy had starting fucking yet. He looked as though he had seen somewhere between 16 and 20 summers. If he was lucky, he had found a local farmgirl to poke his peg into; two minutes of sweaty thrusting in a field somewhere her father wouldn’t catch them.

He wouldn’t be doing that any more. He would not even be getting hard. Simply losing his eggs would not prevent it; eunuchs had no problem raising a pole after they recovered from the pain of castration, but Hugo had darker plans for the boy.

 

He continued very slowly squeezing, drawing the experience out, enjoying the feeling between his fingers. The soft testicle was less than half its former length; about the width of a finger now, then he felt a familiar sensation; the sudden decrease in resistance that denoted that something had given way. The fibrous capsule that contained the delicate meat within had undoubtedly ruptured.

The teenager’s violent reaction confirmed Hugo’s assumption; his arms and legs thrashing in all directions as though he had been struck by a lightning bolt. Hugo continued squeezing until he felt warm offal on the side of his finger, then he stopped. His intention was not to excise all of the flesh from the tunica; that would bring the defiant peasant boy’s suffering to an end too soon. Instead, Hugo left the young man with a crushed, half empty testicle that he would continue to feel for a long time to come.

He switched his attention to the other testicle. It was considerably larger than the other one.

“All the more to ruin,” Hugo thought to himself.

He squeezed it in the same way as the left one, and though Timur already had one ruptured testicle, it did nothing to diminish the pain of the right one as the vampire sadistically squeezed it, taking his time, allowing the teenager time to fully comprehend just how completely helpless he was in his hands.

The boy went berserk, and his gurgling scream reached a pitch so high that Timur sounded exactly like his little sister as she saw her parents being slaughtered. Hugo was unconcerned. The next nearest cottage was at least quarter of a mile away; maybe twice that. There would be nobody to hear his agonised wailing, and even if they did, he could easily deal with them if he had to.

Hugo shifted his attention between the boy’s pained face, with its eyes bulging in agony, and his testicle, bulging even larger as he transformed its form from an oval to an orb, and then a torus before it went the way of the other, bursting, squirting its tender meat into his scrotum and assuring that no matter what happened in his future, Timur would never sire children.

Hugo pulled the boy’s face close to his own, and pulled his head back by the hair, exposing his throat. Hugo bore his fangs, drawing his lips back to show Timur his fate. The teenager was too agonised to react with any more than a widening of eyes formerly squeezed near-shut by pain. Hugo buried his teeth into the boy’s neck, and started to drink.

The boy’s blood was good, sweetened by healthy living and a daily diet of red meat. Hugo drank deeply, but not so deep that he took the boy’s life as he had Timur’s younger siblings.

He stopped short, and the curse that flowed within his own blood flowed back into Timur’s, infecting him. Timur felt the heat in his veins as the infection surged through him. He didn’t know it, but he would now become a thrall, inextricably bound to his master.

Timur finally slipped into merciful unconsciousness, his destroyed testicles no longer a concern.

 


One comment

  • No wonder that his balls still hurt 300 years later. My balls shrunk up a bit just from reading this. — Nice 👍🏻

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